


Assassins Make Good Pillows

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [81]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Nightmares, Zevran and his Warden are dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Prompt 3: Bare feet padding on cold tile, the creak of a door opening, a soft whisper, a kiss on the shoulder.Zevran wakes up in the middle of the night to find his bed emptier than it should be. Naturally, he has to investigate where his Warden went.
Relationships: Female Amell/Zevran Arainai, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Series: Reddit Prompts [81]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1153856
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Assassins Make Good Pillows

He knew something was amiss the moment he opened his eyes. His arms were empty, and what was worse, he was _cold_. He’d gotten used to cuddling for warmth at night, what with how damned chilly the backwater kingdom his beloved called home got at night. The other odd thing: the giant hairy beast that usually used one or both of them as a pillow wasn’t on the bed. Nor was he in the fancy dog bed that sat by the hearth. Not that Fang used it very often, Ser Pounce-a-lot had sensed the chance and largely claimed it as her own. The little ginger tabby was curled up on the dog bed, one delicate orange paw covering her eyes as she dozed.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, he hesitated before finally gathering the willpower to rise from it. Zevran scanned their chambers, but found nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that his Warden and her mabari were not there. The former Crow questioned his judgment for slinking out of his quarters in only a pair of undershorts as the cool air eagerly drew the heat from his skin. Hissing curses under his breath as his bare feet padded across the cold tile of the hallway, he began searching for his missing partner.

He wandered into the library first, only to find silence and uncounted numbers of books. Next, he crept to the kitchens, only to find a sleeping Nathaniel face-first in the book on the table in front of him. Sneaking into the throne room proved fruitless as he went past a guard that was plainly sleeping on his feet. The elf wrinkled his nose at the thought of climbing up the many stairs that would lead to the tower where she kept the alchemy lab… a tower that was still undergoing repairs. Privately, it drove him a little bit mad that she used the tower in spite of Voldrik’s warnings that it was still unstable and therefore unsafe. He retreated back to their quarters; if he was going to go searching in the chilly dead of night, he’d like to at least have proper boots on!

A little while later, he reemerged with his favorite boots on his feet, a thick woolen cloak pulled tightly around him, and a pair of daggers sitting snugly in the hidden sheaths in said boots. He hesitated after he found himself at the bottom of the stairs that would lead to the top of the tower. A small niggling feeling kept insisting he wouldn’t find what he was searching for up there. The feeling instead told him to look on the battlements. Pursing his lips for a few heartbeats, he shrugged and then let his feet take him in that direction.

The door to the battlements creaked as it opened. Above him, the sky was a deep blue glittering with an uncountable number of stars while a crescent moon sat like a regal queen holding court in the midst of it all. He caught the sound of soft whispering in the wind. He followed it to its source: a small woman wrapped in a fur-lined cloak that was a size too large for her frame who sat with her arm around a mabari hound and one hand pointed sky-ward.

“That one,” the woman whispered to the hound, “is called Fervanis. The Great Oak. At least, that’s the old Tevinter name for it. The Dalish people call it something else, or so I was told.”

Fang tilted his head and made a questioning sound.

“I don’t pick the names, dear. I’m just going by what I was told.” She tilted her head toward the left and one could hear the smile in her voice as she pointed. “Oh, there’s another one that way! Bellitanus, but most people call it The Maiden. I bet people wouldn’t be near as enamored with it if they knew which Tevinter Old God was associated with it. I’ll give you a hint: we killed it.”

Fang whined.

“I think you’re right, boy. Better to let them stay in the dark about that. No need to let a wretched dragon-god-whatever ruin a perfectly nice constellation and the myths around it,” she chuckled.

Zevran claimed the empty spot to her right and plopped himself next to his Warden. A grin claimed his mouth with she startled in surprise.

“Oh, sweet Maker! You surprised me, love!” Sevarra said with a hand pressed over her heart.

He chuckled. “It was only fair. I awoke to find myself deprived of the company of my most favorite wife in my bed.”

Her gaze dropped to the stone beneath them, a pensive look claiming her features. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want to wake you.”

He raised his brows in concern. “More dreams of darkspawn?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I’ve not had one of those since the last visit to Orzammar. This was something more...ordinary.”

He snaked an arm around her waist, silently cursing the cold, and lightly pulled her toward him. She allowed it and rested her head against his shoulder. “Do you wish to elaborate?”

She was quiet for a time, seemingly searching for the words or perhaps the courage to speak. “I had that dream again. From… before everything. I was locked up and left alone in the dark, going mad. I… I needed to be outside. Even a run-down barn with a roof that had more holes than wood and thatch would’ve felt too confining, to say nothing of a spacious castle bedchamber.”

He pulled her closer, both to offer comfort and to surreptitiously steal a bit more warmth. The “can’t get out of a confined space” dreams were the most common non-darkspawn nightmares. Sometimes she cried out in her sleep, voice carrying far more anguish than she’d ever consciously allowed it to during waking hours. A warm, soft hand went searching beneath his cloak, caressing the bare skin of his chest.

“Zevran Arainai, did you come out here only in your smalls and a cloak?” she asked, voice a mixture of amusement and concern.

“No. I am also wearing a rather fashionable pair of boots,” he smirked.

She shook her head with a huff and then chuckled. “Let’s get back indoors before my delicate hothouse flower of a husband catches his death in the cold night air.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before rising to her feet and offering him a hand up.

A short while later, the assassin and his Warden were back in their bed, his arms wrapped around her waist as she dozed. He was about to drift off to sleep when the weight of two creatures, one heavy and one just barely worthy of notice, pressed against him. He blinked sleepily and raised his head to find that Fang had curled up behind him and Ser Pounce-a-lot had deigned to make a pillow of the Antivan’s hip for the remainder of the night. He sighed and sank back into his pillow. At least it was warm.


End file.
